To the End
by pen7sword
Summary: To all who believe in Harry and Hermione.  Everyone deserves a happy ending.  "My first kiss with Harry was when I was 17, lost in a world of emotions and in a small tent."  Enjoy. Reviews are appreciated.  One-shot.


**(A/N- This is a result of me writing at 12:30 at night, because I just can't get Harry and Hermione out of my head. **

**I'll admit it, this isn't the best fic in the world. There's not a whole lot of dialogue, and you could get bored to death here if you like fluffy fics and a lot of passionate romantic stuff. **

**But if you've believed in Harry and Hermione since the beginning, you'll stick with it. There's always a happy ending for them.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.)**

My first kiss with Harry was when I was 17, lost in a world of emotions and in a small tent.

Only he could make me feel this way. The way he spun me around with a smile, no words spoken, just us and the music and the world. We were alone, but I had everything I needed. I was heartbroken, too- Ron's leaving had hurt deeply. Was I not good enough for him? I was taking the days one at a time. Harry was the only thing holding me in one piece.

I don't think, when I leaned in after the dance, that he could have ever pulled away. In our world of Horcruxes and fear, away from home and scavenging for food, we needed each other, just to be close with someone else. He knew I was hurting, and I think, being the friend he was, he would have done anything to heal my wounds. Neither of us were considering the significance of the moment, but were determined to ignore the harsh reality that was life.

Of the three girls he'd kissed, two were crying. I don't know what it says in his taste in girls, but it says remarkable things about him. When you most need him, Harry is there.

His lips were soft but reassuring, strong but comforting. It wasn't a kiss of lust or desire, but of friendship and warmth and the strength of our relationship. I cried in his arms afterwards, and he held me, but for the first time, I realized I didn't need Ron there. I missed him, his laughter, his random comments and light humor, but Harry was all I really needed. I didn't register at the time that if it had been Ron and I, I would miss and need Harry. He was my lifeline.

…

Upon returning from Godric's hollow, he was a mess of blood and pain and screaming in his sleep, and I was an emotional wreck with terror in my mind and heart. I tended to his wounds with shaking fingers, my face white, m mind numb with fear. We hadn't talked about the kiss since then, but when he woke, I was overwhelmed with relief and leaned down, needing to feel his lips on mine. He was alive. The fear that had caused me to break out with sweat in the middle of the night, memories of the snake and the house crashing down around us surrounding me, was gone. We'd pulled each other through. Throughout the night, we held each other, needing closeness, needing proof that there _was _more than death and evil in the world. In the darkness of those days, there was little to convince us of that.

…

Through an unspoken agreement, we shared a kiss every night before falling asleep. It kept us sane. It was a kiss of friendship and reminding each other that we were there, not alone. My hurt from Ron had slowly ebbed away, until I could think about him and talk about him with comfort. It didn't occur to me that along with my pain, my feelings for him had left, too.

…

When Ron returned, I was stunned into shock, then anger. I'd been fine before he'd decided to come back. My emotions had been free of confliction and I, however unconsciously, had become used to just Harry and I…sometimes even grateful that it was just the two of us. But slowly, with all his apologies and hopeful smiles, I began to forgive him. I'd missed him, I realized, and I remembered why I'd loved him. With all his rugged handsomeness, boyish laughter, and his playful desperation to be forgiven, I wanted to be with him again.

The first night he'd come back, when Ron was on his shift, I met Harry's eyes, asking a silent question. Something flickered between us, and he said quietly,

"Ron needs you." I nodded, thankful for his understanding, but, for a reason unknown to me at the time, I cried myself to sleep that night.

…

I realized, as we continued the search for Horcruxes and my growing relationship with Ron began to show, that Harry was, as always, right. I kept Ron going. Ron and I balanced each other out, complementing each other. He needed someone, whereas Harry's life was always meant to be lived alone. I began having moments of fear where I would think the impossible- why could Harry _sense _the Horcruxes? Why did he have this connection?

I wanted to be there for Harry, but he seemed to know it wasn't safe, that there was a reason Ron and I were made for each other. And I agreed. When had Harry ever been wrong?

Ron and I held each other with a playfulness, a careful, crazy, experiment. He'd take my hand, and I would feel the sparks. The adventure of falling in love with someone with the peril so great around us was just as much the feeling. When Ron smiled at me, I felt special. I'd never felt that way before.

…

Then, as Ron turned to me in the Chamber of Secrets, we shared our first kiss. It was warm and passionate, filled with lust and longing and adventure and thrill. It was a feeling completely new to me, but I think it was then that I was reminded of someone else's lips. I wanted Harry. I wanted the intensity, the feeling I recognized now as _love_, with him. I wanted to feel the bond with him that Ron could never have felt. Ron was everything I could have asked for, but he wasn't Harry.

Ron pulled me close and I followed blindly as he led me to a staircase, where he took my hands and I leaned against him, my emotions running wild inside of me. A fear was growing inside of me, too. Harry, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, would have known I'd feel this way eventually, the way he knew everything about me. Was there a reason why he'd pushed me towards Ron? Why he'd be determined that I'd love someone…that I could have a life with?

My question was answered as I saw Harry approaching, and he didn't need to explain. I saw in his eyes that he had to die, and he saw in mine that he'd failed to direct my love towards someone else. My tears started to spill before Ron knew what was happening, and for the last time, I needed Harry and I fell into his arms. I knew now that he didn't need anyone, because he'd always known that his life was going to be alone. There was no way I could create more pain and break Ron's heart, but I didn't need to speak to tell Harry. He knew. A torrent of unsaid things passed between us through our embrace.

"I'll come with you," I choked out, the tears burning my eyes. Physical pain was nothing compared to this. It wasn't just my heart breaking. _I was not complete without Harry. _He was my world. It wasn't a question of living or dying, but how I would die. There was no living without him. I needed him. He refused, of course, in the hopes that I would stay with Ron, but for once, he didn't understand. No one could understand my love for him. When he walked away without me, to end the life that had never fully been his, my whole world was falling apart.

…

When I saw him jump from Hagrid's arms, I was in shock, then in terror as I realized Voldemort _would not let him live_. He sent curse after curse towards him, seeming as invincible as he'd ever been, but I refused to believe it. We'd killed the snake, the cup, the locket, the diary, the diadem and…Harry?

Neither could live while the other survived.

This was it.

…

Hope curled in my chest when I saw Harry, after the war, walking into the Hall. _Alive. _I was bloody, streaked with smoke and dust and dirt, the wounds in my heart gaping open. The hall was filled with despair and loss, mourning and tears.

But we _were _the survivors. We _were _the winners. They'd been defeated.

He turned toward me, and I knew. He wasn't going to hold me back now. The life that had been dictated by fate and destiny and Voldemort was gone, and it was his to live now. For once in his life, he wasn't going to be the savior. Because the Boy Who Lived had done anything but living. He'd survived.

"Harry."

He didn't owe anything to anyone. He was Harry now. My Harry.

**(A/N- Reviews are welcome. If you've gotten this far- no cheating- I send my love to you.)**


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